


Cloud. Stone. Sky.

by fresne



Category: Hebrew Bible
Genre: Chromatic Character, Chromatic Source, Chromatic Yuletide, F/M, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 20:56:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/299962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fresne/pseuds/fresne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.</p><p>As the sounds of the building of the second Temple flew up to the clouds, the Teacher walked and he listened. He sang the song of coming home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cloud. Stone. Sky.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kynical](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kynical/gifts).



> The following inspiration for this work and inspiration for my dialogue, where I am not directly quoting, because apt quotes are cool:  
> Request: Back story on the writer of Ecclesiastes

Summary: To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.

Cloud. Sky. Stone.

 _To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven._  
The Teacher woke up on the roof of his home. The summer night had been too hot to sleep inside and the day looked to be hotter still.

He put his hands behind his head and he looked up to the purpose of heaven. A white cloud drifted across his view. It was tinged pink with the rising sun. It looked like a camel. The cloud that followed it looked like a grotesque face with a pink tipped nose from too much wine. The wind pushed the cloud. The face became a golden leviathan of the deep.

His wife rolled over as he lay idly dreaming on clouds. She hummed under her breath and got up to the labor of the day.

He got up and ate a simple meal of oat mash and honey. He drank sour goat’s milk still warm from the goat.

 

 _A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;_  
The Teacher walked in his golden fields with his son at his knee. He pointed to the men as they reaped the long shafts of heavy wheat, which bent under their own weight. He pointed to the women as they gathered up what had cut down.

They walked through his vineyard. The vines were heavy with dark fruit.

They walked through his orchard. The trees were thick with plump figs. The white bark of the trees beckoned to his son. The teacher waited while his son clambered through the tree limbs and swung on the wide white branches.

The teacher and his son walked into the City where the scaffolding rose over the rising walls of the Temple. He pointed to where men swung great blocks of stone with line and tackle. They listened to the music of their motion and walked on.

 

 _A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;_  
The Teacher read aloud the letter from King in Babylon and the sound of labor on the Temple stopped. Birds nested on the scaffolds. The wind blew over the land. The rains came and the scaffolds fell.

The Teacher’s son grew and his clothing had to be put aside for larger robes. His sandals had to be put aside for larger sandals.

The Teacher went with the men that gathered on the road. They sang as they walked. The song that they sang was about coming home. They walked down the yellow dusty road until their robes grew rich in golden dust. They walked from the City to the city where the Satrap lived. They sang to him of home. They sang to him of the road that leads there. The song flew up to heaven’s purpose.

They walked the dusty road home. The Teacher saw a whirlwind race across the desert. The foot of the wind was on fire as it raced to the will of Heaven. He pointed to it and the men watched its passage.

The Teacher read a letter before the people from the King in Babylon. The scaffolds rose up again and song of work resumed.

 

 _A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;_  
The foreign women were weeping. They held their children to them. The Teacher watched them weep. His heart was heavy and he was weeping too. The tears rolled down his cheeks. They rolled into his beard until it was wet with salt tears.

He wept even though his wife was behind their home directing the women in the baking of bread in the cool of the morning. He wept even though his son stood at his side.

He watched the foreign women and their children leave their husbands and their fathers behind and he mourned this purpose.

That evening was cool. His son sang a silly song in front of the fire. The Teacher laughed. His son played badly on his drums. The Teacher took the hands of his wife in his own hands. They danced together.

 

 _A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;_  
The Teacher went by himself into the hills. He walked along the dusty path through the low brush. He gathered up stones as he went. He came to a well that was hidden in the hills. He took off the cover that hid it from the bright sky. He cast a stone into the deep water. It rippled on the surface. It rippled and then the water was still again. He drank his fill from the surface of the water and he went on his way. He covered the well and hid it again.

He went to the place where the dead were. He went to the place of piled stones. He put his stone on the pile where his daughter was.

The Teacher walked down from the hills. He came home to find his brother standing behind a tree out of view of the house. He had not seen his brother since he went with his wife and children into Samaria. He had not seen him since he left with the foreign women. The Teacher looked at his brother and he opened the gate. His brother did not follow him. His brother continued down the dusty road. His donkey kicked up dirt and stones behind him like the tail of a rooster.

The Teacher went into his house. His wife saw him standing in the open door. She embraced him in the beams of sunlight that came in behind him.

 

 _A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;_  
The hint of coming winter chill burned the grape leaves red. The Teacher’s tenants came to him to settle their accounts. They paid him in coins that went in neat stacks that he marked off in his records. They paid him in candied figs and casks of wine. He marked them all off in his records.

Winter blew sand against the walls of his home. They ate candied figs on long evenings by the fire. They put away the wine in the cellar.

The blush of spring made the olive trees thick with pollen. The Teacher gathered up his accounts and sent what was owed to the King in Babylon.

The long lingered days shrank the river to a wet trickle on the dry stones. The orchards darkened with green and shade.

The trees grew heavy with olives. The vines grew heavy with grapes. The Teacher ate the olives and the grapes. The taste was sweet.

 

 _A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;_  
The Teacher’s wife tore at the seams of the tunic that her mother had worn in Babylon. She ripped until there was no tunic. She ripped until there was only cloth. She removed the panel that was torn. She took her needle and her thread and she sewed in a new piece of cloth. She sewed until the old garment was as new and she put it on.

They walked together with their son. They walked through the fields and down the road. The men who worked their fields walked with them. The women who tended their house walked with them. They sang as they walked and their song was the song of coming home.

The Prophet stood before the Great Assembly and he unrolled the Law. He read the words.

The people listened until there was silence. There were tears in their eyes. Their faces turned up to the Temple on the hill.

Teachers stood with the Great Assembly and they each explained the words that had been spoken. The Teacher argued meaning of the Law. Children laughed as they ran down the street beneath the Temple. The teachers stood opposite each other and they argued while eating olives through the long day.

 

_A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace._

The Teacher laid his lips to the brow of his son and watched him walk away down the road. His son wore a man’s tunic, which his mother had made for him. He was going to serve the Satrap in his battles. He carried a sword on his back. He went to fight for the King in Babylon. He cast a long shadow down the dusty road.

The Teacher thought on the Satrap and he thought on the King in Babylon. He went up into the hills and he laid a stone upon a pile.

There was a time for this. There was a time for waiting on the roof as the Teacher and his wife watched the fig trees grow. There was a time to watch the grapes turn red in the chill of the year. There was a time to watch the leaves grow green again.

There was a time when his son walked home.

Their son sat with them on the roof of the house.

The evening clouds in the sky looked like a horse and a thistle.

The clouds looked like a word written on the sky and set on fire by the setting sun.

 

_He hath made every thing beautiful in his time: also he hath set the world in their heart, so that no man can find out the work that G*d makes from the beginning to the end._

**Author's Note:**

> If after reading my fiction here, you would like to read more about me and my writing check out my profile.


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